Know Thyself Or Pretend To
by VictorianChik
Summary: Post 2nd X-Men film. Bobby goes to NYU and rooms with Peter Parker. Chaos ensues as the two young superheroes try to find themselves in a city teeming with action. More warnings to follow in future chapters.
1. Chapter 1

I hate being a mutant. No, wait, that's too harsh. I don't hate it, and for the record, I really don't hate mutants. I had mutant friends – Rogue, Scott, Ororo, and Pyro before he ran off, and Wolverine, kind of. I think Logan's the sort of guy who has allies and enemies, but maybe not friends. They're all mutants and they're okay with it.

Me? I don't like being different. There's nothing wrong with being unique, but different, this different, is hard.

Which is why I'm leaving. I'm only seventeen but I'm going to college at NYU. I'm skipping 12th grade altogether and going straight into college classes.

And I don't want to talk about anyone at Xavier's School. I have mutant friends, but I need some space.

I thought about writing to my parents. I haven't gotten up the nerve to call them yet. It's been months since I was at their house, and I've kept trying to contact them, but every time I just stand there with the phone in my hand, unable to dial the numbers.

And I don't want to talk. Everyone kept asking me if I wanted to talk. "Bobby, you'll feel better if you just talk." "Bobby, just tell us what you're thinking." "It takes time to deal with grief, Bobby, it really does."

Scott gets to mope around in his room, and Logan drinks a galleon of whiskey a day, but I'm the one who needs to talk about stuff, apparently. Another reason I left – I don't want to have to share my feelings. I feel stuff; why do I have to talk about it?

So that's how I found myself on the train on a hot August morning, a suitcase in one hand and a backpack in the other.

I was no longer a student at Xavier's – I was a freshman attending NYU, completely independent and self-sufficient. Undeclared as of yet, though I said I was leaning towards pre-law in my application.

Forget those guys I left behind and all their guilt. I was a free man.

I got off the train along with dozens of other college students, some with suitcases and other baggage like me.

One door down, a thin older woman with silver white hair was stepping out with a boy about my age.

"Are you sure this is the right stop?" the woman questioned as the guy pulled his suitcase off the train with a clatter.

"Yes, it's the right one. You don't have to come with me. I can find the way on my own."

"I'm not having you get lost in all these people," the woman fussed. "What if you couldn't find your dorm and you had to sleep on the street? Now, you come along like a good boy and we'll get you settled in."

"Aunt May . . ." the boy sighed but he offered her his free hand as we all started up the stairs.

I thought about trying to find a map, but I figured I'd just go along with all the college kids and see where I ended up.

Sure enough, I found myself outside of NYU and got to the right table to sign in for orientation. There were hundreds of students milling around, and I loved that.

Nothing make me happier than to blend into a huge crowd, to pace myself in a moving group so I keep walking and never slow down or speed up past the person beside me, to stand among lots of people and have no one recognize me. I don't like being pointed at or stared at or feeling so different that I have to live with a bunch of mutants just to seem normal.

I don't want to be different, and I plan to never, ever, ever use my powers again. As far as I'm concerned, I have no powers.

"Here is your info," the woman behind the table handed me a bag stuffed with papers, flyers and pamphlets. "Your dorm number, key card, and roommate assignment are in the bag. Find your group because the tour starts in fifteen minutes. For those of you who brought stuff, but did not have time to take it to your dorms before now, we have lockers for you to put your stuff in."

I took the bag and stepped away from the table, careful not to hold up the line. Most people don't realize how hard it is to blend in, but I do. Timing is everything. You can't leave too early or stay too long; you can't ask too many questions or look too bored; you nod along with whatever the other person says, but you don't quite make eye contact.

I knew the moment I stepped away from the table the woman had already forgotten me.

After locking up my suitcase, I went to sit under a large tree, on one of the small wooden benches surrounding the trunk.

I shifted through all my papers and stuff inside the bag. Info about course, guidelines to follow, numbers to call, places to go – all pretty routine stuff. They had given us several sheets of paper when I first entered Xavier's so I was used to getting the layouts and the info.

At the bottom of the bag, I felt something hard and square, and I reached in to grab. I thought it might be candy or gum – I've heard sometimes that companies go to college campuses and pass out candy with their logo to promote whatever they want you to buy. I wouldn't have said no to something to chew on while I waited for the tour.

I glanced down at the object in my hand. It was packaged in clear plastic, a round red circle inside. It was a condom.

A second later, I realized that not only was it a condom, but it was a cherry-flavored one that was supposed to make my pleasure "sweet as candy and twice as good."

I dropped it in the bag as I felt my cheeks heat up. Hey, I'm no prude. Yeah, I'm still a virgin, but I'm only seventeen, and the one girl who I loved is a mutant who can't be touched. We had one beautiful kiss at my parents' house months ago, but that's as far as I've gotten pleasure-wise with someone else.

This was just all so different from Xavier's. We had health class there and we talked about sex and reproduction and John made sly remarks under his breath that got us stern looks from the teacher. But we didn't get condoms in our welcomes bags, and I never knew of any of the students having sex, though I wouldn't put anything past Kitty Pryce. She was always popping into people's rooms and explaining that it was quicker than taking the hall, but we still threw pillows at her and told her to stay in her own room. It could get embarrassing when you were trying to get dressed, and she had no respect for anyone's privacy.

I glanced around, trying to look cool, to see how other people felt about the free gift in our bags, but no one else seemed to care or even notice. Most of the students were talking to each other or using a cell phone. I took a few papers out of my bag and pretended to read them again.

My dorm room was #312 so I guessed that meant on the third floor in the middle probably. I was sharing a double room, but the showers would be down at the end in a Co-Ed bathroom. Great – that was going to be a lot of fun. I might get to see naked girls, but then they'd see me naked, too.

I was sharing a room with someone called Parker, Peter. Well, at least it was a guy.

". . . no reason for you to stay," a boy's voice drifted over to me.

I glanced to see the kid and the old woman again, this time standing in the shade of a large tree near mine.

"I have my information, I know where my dorm is, and I'm going to be okay," the guy insisted.

"But I worry about you," the woman shook her head. "You're so delicate, and you know how nervous you get about school. I won't be here to cook for you and wash your clothes and see that you go to bed on time."

"I can do all that myself," the boy promised her, not sounding too annoyed. I swear he almost had a smile in his voice.

I couldn't help myself – I glanced over at them. The boy looked about my height with light brown hair and quiet blue eyes. He wore a tee shirt and jeans, but the jeans were nice and his shirt was tucked in with a belt, too. He looked thin-ish, but he seemed solid at the same time. The woman beside him was at least four inches shorter and looked frail compared to him, but she kept fussing over him as if he were a sickly child.

"Remember to drink milk everyday and take your vitamins," the old lady instructed. "And no going out after nine – you know how the night air affects your asthma. And wear a raincoat when it gets damp, and a sweater everyday when October comes. And I'll be waiting for you everyone other Saturday."

"Will do, Aunt May," he nodded.

She looked like she was trying to find other reasons to stay and caution him to take care of himself, and I wanted to snicker. How embarrassing to have your aunt take you to college like the first day of school and then have her fret over you with so many people around.

"Well, give me a kiss," she raised herself up and he bend to kiss her cheek. "Remember that I love you, and I'm very proud of you, and your uncle would be, too."

I looked away and I didn't hear the boy's response. My throat felt tight all of the sudden. I've always been pretty independent and I don't remember my mom babying me much when I was a kid. She was more concerned about Ronnie, and I used to tease Ronnie when we were little and he would get upset and she would hold him until he stopped crying. I didn't want my mother to be here on NYU campus, but it would have been nice to hear her voice once before I left for college. I would have liked her to say that she was proud of me, and Dad, too. I would have liked to know that they still loved me.

"Bye, Aunt May," the boy waved as his aunt walked off.

The guy turned towards me, but I looked down at my bag, pretending like I didn't notice him.

"Welcome, students, to NYU," a voice suddenly boomed over the speakers. "Group tours will begin in five minutes. Please find your group and wait for your campus leader. Once again, group tours will begin in five minutes."

I got up and began heading towards my group. Once I found them, I stood there, once again trying to look casual. But as I glanced around, I noticed that most people were sweating from the heat. A few people waved their pamphlets in front of their faces to cool down, and one girl had a tiny, pink, battery-charged fan that she held two inches from her nose and sighed into the small bursts of air.

I don't sweat. I can turn almost anything into ice, and my body stays pretty cool most of the time. I went into the sauna at school once and the hotter the room got the colder my body got until the guys complained that it was like putting a refrigerator in the room and Scott said he didn't think a sauna did much good for me anyway. But I don't sweat, and as I stood there in a group of sweaty people I tried to come up with a reason why I wouldn't sweat, just in case someone asked. Surely there had to be some medical condition where you didn't.

"All right, people," the group leader raised her hands in the air. "We're going to start our tour. Feel free to ask any questions and refer to your map as often as you like."

Hands-down, it was the longest tour I had ever been on and the most complicated. We went through buildings and up stairs and down stairs and through walk-ways, and the map didn't help at all because half the time I had it upside-down as I was trying to walk and listen to her at the same time. Thankfully, everyone else looked confused, too, so I didn't feel too bad.

We finally got back to the beginning of the tour and they announced that it was lunch time, so I followed everyone inside to stand in line for food. The big room where they served lunch had air conditioning so I could stop worrying about not sweating.

I got a tray full of food and sat down at a round with nine other students.

" . . . so lameass," the girl beside me was saying to her friend. "He keeps rampaging, and no one does anything."

"I heard the army can't even take him down. He's indestructible," her friend replied.

I froze. No, not literally – I meant I stopped moving and stopped breathing as I listened to them. They were talking about Wolverine. Who else could they be talking about? Who else was rampaging and indestructible and being chased by the army? What if they knew about him and then they knew about me and they knew I was mutant and they told everyone?

"It's a dumb name too," the first girl went on. "Who came up with that?"

"I know. Hulk – so stupid. I think of this green hunk of rock every time someone says it," her friend laughed.

"You girls talking about the Hulk?" a guy on the other side of the table asked.

"Yeah, we are."

"My brother's friend said he was here in New York a few months ago," the guy grinned. "Actually here, full on green and angry. Badass, huh?"

I leaned back in my chair as they kept talking. I had heard about the Hulk a few times, but I'd never seen him and I didn't really believe he was real until the teachers started talking about him. Logan wanted to go find him and bring him down, but I guess the Professor said no.

I finished eating and went back to get some more to drink, just to have something to do. I really just wanted to go to the dorm room and be alone, but I didn't want to be the one guy that wasn't socializing on orientation day.

As I got another cup of ice and coke, I turned and nearly bumped into the same guy again, the one with the over-protective aunt and the soft blue eyes.

"Sorry," he apologized, stepping back to balance his tray.

I stared at all the food on his plate, nearly twice as much as I ate.

"I'm really hungry," he admitted with a half-smile.

I didn't understand how a guy my size could eat that much food, but I nodded along.

It was the perfect opportunity to start a conversation and maybe get to know at least one person in this room of hundreds, but I dropped my gaze and headed back to my table.

When I got back to my table, the conversation had shifted to the freshman courses they wanted to take.

I listened, but I didn't say anything. From the way they were talking about subjects, most of them seemed to come from normal high schools, not a boarding school. And certainly not a mutant boarding school posing as an exclusive prep school in upper New York State. As the students talked, I looked over the list of courses and they didn't seem too hard. I understood most of the descriptions.

I guess Xavier's prepared me more for college than I thought, but still, I wasn't going to sign up for anything too hard. A math, an English, a history, maybe a film class and a language, and that was it. I didn't plan to be the best student or worst so nothing too easy or too hard.

After another long half hour later, they moved us onto the latter part of the tour which ended with us signing up for classes and finally getting to go up to our dorm rooms. I signed up for five classes, got my schedule printed out, and pulled out my trusty map to find my way back to the dorms.

I finally figured out how to get in the building and had climbed two flights of stairs before I realized I had left my suitcase downstairs in the locker. As I went back down, I felt so angry with myself. I couldn't remember anything anymore, not a single damn thing to save my life or anyone else's for that matter. I wished I could break something, I wanted to smash my fists into a wall, I wanted to freeze the entire building and then shatter the whole place into icy chunks. I hate feeling out of control – I hate that I'm not strong enough to pull myself together.

I had calmed down a little by the time I reached the locker, and I hoped I looked entirely normal and sane to the people who were also opening their lockers. I smiled slightly at the girl in front of me, struggling with her huge suitcase. It weighed at least a hundred pounds and she nearly dropped as it tumbled out. Before I could stop myself, I reached forward to help her. I grabbed the handle and stood the suitcase up. My fingers brushed over hers, and she looked up with warm brown eyes.

"Thanks," she smiled. "I think I packed too much, huh?"

"Yeah," I shifted my weight from one foot to another. It felt so weird to touch a girl and not have to worry about getting hurt.

She paused for another second to see if I would say anything else, but then she moved towards the door, pulling the huge suitcase on rollers.

After I got my suitcase, I went back into the building, and I found the elevator (I didn't mind hiking up three flights with my backpack and bag of papers, but with a suitcase, too, I was taking the elevator).

The hallway on the third floor was wide enough when it was empty, but with so many students coming in and out of the rooms with all their stuff, it took me a minute to get down to room 312. The door was cracked open, and I guessed my roommate was already inside.

Time to meet this Parker fellow.

I cautiously opened the door.


	2. Chapter 2

My roommate was already sitting on one bed, but he looked at me as I came in. "Bobby Drake?"

I stopped short in the doorway. It was the same guy I had seen all day, the one with the blue eyes. "Wait, over-protective aunt kid?"

He ducked his head. "Please tell me that's not my nickname already. She was only here a few hours. I told her to let me come by myself."

But he seemed more joking than embarrassed so I took that as a good sign. I needed a roommate with a sense of humor. "You got that bed?"

"Yeah. Oh, but I can have the other if you really want this one," he half-stood, but I shook my head.

"No, one bed's the same as the other, I guess. What do you think about the campus?"

"Big," he grinned. "But fun. There will always be something going on. And we'll be right here. The trip time from Queens was a major drag."

"You lived in Queens?" I said, trying to make conversation. I hated how socially awkward I must be appearing while he was as relaxed and calm.

"Yeah, with the over-protective aunt. She's usually not so bad, but going off to college and all that. She needs someone to worry about."

"Well, you can always go visit her. Queens isn't that far."

"No, just a swing away."

"Huh?" I glanced at him.

Peter froze. "Uh, just an expression, you know. 'Hop, skip, and jump' is what some people say. I say 'swing.' I say a lot of things that aren't true or have any real meaning. Where do you come from?"

"A school upstate." I sat down on the bed facing him. "I really don't want to talk about high school – bad memories."

"Yeah, I hear you," he nodded.

We sat in silence for a moment, strained, awkward. I wanted nothing more than to start pouring myself out, to tell him what had happened to me, to let myself go and just be normal for a change, but I couldn't figure out how to start a friendship that would let me do that eventually. How do you tell someone how much of a mess you really are? How do you tell someone you're a mutant?

"I'm going to unpack and then wander the campus," Peter stood up. "It was nice to meet you. You want to go to dinner later?"

"No, I'm fine," I said before I could stop myself.

"Okay, see you later," he started unpacking his suitcase, humming under his breath.

When he left a few minutes later, I stretched out on my bed and stared at the ceiling. Why hadn't I said yes to his offer? Why was I closing myself off to potential friends on the first day of school? The semester hadn't even started, and I was already isolating myself.

Peter didn't come back to the room and I went out on my own around six. The cafeteria was open, and I got some food and wandered around campus to get used to the layout of the school. As the sky got dark, I went into one of the student centers to watch TV.

The news was reporting several crimes in Brooklyn and I watched several cop cars chasing a car when all of a sudden the car shot straight up in the air.

I leaned forward in surprise, but the camera zoomed to show thick webs holding the car up between two buildings.

"Whoo!" a guy, who looked like he could be a football player, whooped suddenly. "Spider-Man is in the house. Look at him go."

His girlfriend, a drop-dead-gorgeous blond, smiled. "Rick has a man-crush on Spider-Man," she explained to another female friend.

"Whatever," Rick waved her off, his eyes glued to the TV. "Can you imagine how cool it would be to be Spider-Man with all those moves and the web and the strength."

"Spider-Man could lift me up with one hand," his girlfriend smirked. "But you can barely lift – oh, stop!"

He had rushed at her and swooped her up in his arms, and she was laughing and telling him to put her down. Their friends were all laughing, too, but he finally let her stand and they kissed before he went back to watching TV.

Around ten, I went back to the dorm (still empty) and I played around on my laptop until about midnight. Peter hadn't come back, but I got into bed and left the side lamp on. I wasn't tired, and I thought about going for a run, but I didn't want to do much of anything.

I finally fell asleep, and I found myself in the middle of a familiar nightmare: the one where I got chased through the mansion by armed soldiers. This had happened in real life, but in the dream, the mansion kept going and going. I opened a door to find a hallway stretching before me and I ran down it only to find a door that opened, but when I finally got it open, there was another hallway. I started out with good friends, but they dropped away one by one until I was all alone. I kept running and running, and the soldiers were right behind.

I knew they would catch me, but my feet had slowed down and I ran so slowly that I was screaming in panic. They were right behind me, they would catch me, I tried to move but I was stuck.

"Hey? You all right?"

A hand touched my shoulder, and I sat up in bed and screamed as I covered the bed in ice, a cocoon to protect myself.

"Oh, shit!" someone yelled.

I looked through the blanket of ice to see Peter . . . up in the wall. He was at least three feet off the ground with his hands and bare feet holding him up on the wall. From his wrists, short webs spread around the wall.

I sat up, breaking the cover of ice. "Spider-Man?"

"Creepy Ice Dude?" he said, not taking his eyes off me.

"Ice-Man," I corrected, watching him without blinking.

"Mutant?" he guessed.

"Yeah."

Again we sat in silence – well, technically he was crouching on the wall, his spider strength working against gravity.

"I think we should talk," he finally ventured.

"I have nothing to say," I countered, suddenly defensive.

"Yes, you do. Everyone's freaked out about mutants."

"You're Spider-Man – you have way more to explain than I do. I'm just going to school and pretending to be normal. You were out stopping crimes tonight."

"Maybe," Peter jutted his chin out. "Or maybe there's more than one Spider-Man."

"Is there?"

"No, but I'm thinking about starting rumors so it will take the pressure off Spider-Man. If they think there's more than one of me, I can finally have a normal life."

"How would that help?" I moved my legs and the rest of the ice cracked and slid off the bed. "If they think there are multiple Spider-Mans – Spider-Men? – won't they expect like three Spider-Men to act at once?"

"I'm still working on the idea," he jumped down from the wall.

"You left webs behind," I motioned to the two webs that clung to the white wall.

"They'll disappear after a while," he shrugged.

"You don't have a way of cleaning them up?"

"You have a way of getting all this ice up off the floor?" he sat on his bed and glared at me. "You have to control your powers. You can't cover yourself with ice every time you freak out."

"You jumped up on the wall and used the webs."

"Yeah," Peter frowned, "because you freaked out. I touched your shoulder and I almost got covered in a blizzard. You have to protect your identity and not show your powers so easily."

"Because I was having a nightmare. I'm not going to have them in front of people."

"What if you fall asleep in class?"

"Shut up, Peter," I snapped at him.

"You first, Bobby."

"I'll make you shut up," I threatened.

"No, I'll make _you_ shut up," he lifted his wrist and a small web of gunk shot out and covered my mouth.

Furious, I jumped out of bed and directed ice towards him. But he jumped out of the way, and the ice blasted his bed. I kept shooting ice at him, but he jumped all over our room until ice was everywhere and he had to hang upside down from the ceiling. I stopped flinging ice and tried to pull the webbing off, but it stuck over my mouth and would not budge.

"_You asshole, what if it had covered my nose and I couldn't breathe? Get this crap off my face." _Or at least that's what I wanted to say. What I actually said was, "Mhhmm-mmhm, mhmmh mh mm" and more nonsense sounds. I glared at him and motioned to my face, and he dropped down from the ceiling.

"Sorry," he looked pretty remorseful, "I shouldn't have done that. Hold still and maybe I can get it off."

He grabbed the web, wrapping his hand around the whole blob that had hardened. He pulled hard, but I got dragged forward, my face glued to the webbing. The webbing didn't stick to his hand, but it was cemented to my face.

I widened my eyes in outrage, silently demanding he fix me.

"Try the ice thing," Peter suggested. "Cover it with ice and see if it will freeze and break off, like when you drop things into liquid nitrogen and smash them with a hammer."

I blasted ice onto my face and the webbing got so cold and hard that it felt like iron. But it still wouldn't come off.

"It will come off in about two hours, maybe sooner," Peter said. "We can wait and it might disintegrate sooner because it's not used to being frozen."

I sat down on my bed, furious with him. I stared at him with as much intense hatred as I could direct towards one person.

He sat on his bed, hanging his head glumly. Every so often, he looked at me, and I glared back, and he dropped his gaze.

"I'm really sorry," he said again.

I held up my right hand and gave him the finger.

"Yeah, that's about right," he sighed. "I should have been in control of myself. You can hit me with ice if you like – I won't move."

The thought was tempting – blast him with ice and watch him chatter and shiver while it melted. But I didn't want revenge because then he would consider us even, and we were not even. I just crossed my arms and concentrated on hating him.

The longer I glared, the smaller he seemed to get. He rubbed his arms, and hunched his shoulders, and protested under his breath, "I do a lot of good in this city. I catch criminals with that stuff. I'm usually very careful."

I continued to look at him with pure loathing.

"Sometimes I'm a little careless. They write a lot of mean things about me in the newspaper. I can't stop them without revealing my identity. I take pictures for them and it pays a little, but I can't do anything about what they print."

I made a writing motion with my hand, and he grabbed a notebook and pen off the dresser and handed them to me. I flipped open to a blank page and wrote in caps: _I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR PATHETIC LIFE, YOU SPIDER FREAK!_

I showed him the page, holding it up in front of my covered mouth.

"That's not very nice," he dropped his head again.

I wrote on the page, not in caps: _You gagged me with web junk._

"That sounds like a line out of a porno," he tried to kid.

_Shut up!_ I wrote.

"We could play a game?" he suggested. "I brought cards. That might take your mind off – you know."

I thought about telling him where he could put his cards, but I didn't want to sit there for another hour and forty minutes, waiting for the web to crack.

He got out the deck and came to sit on my bed. The moment he was in arms' reach, I slapped him on the face.

"Ow," he said in resignation.

I thought about hitting him again, but I felt slightly sick from hitting him the first time. I didn't want to be mad at him forever – it wasn't like me, and my stomach was all twisted and upset from glaring so long. I decided to call a truce.

I scooted over so he could lay out the cards.

We played gin, rummy, kings, crazy eights, and even war. We were both pretty good at cards and we won rounds evenly though we weren't really keeping score. Peter talked a little as we played, and I found it was hard to stay mad at him for too long because he got this sad-puppy look every time I won. He was a good sport, but I always caught him making a glum expression when I put down the winning cards.

"Aw, man," he muttered. "So close."

I smiled, or at least I would have smiled if my mouth could move.

He made other cute comments while we played. In gin, where the object is to collect cards by number (3 of diamonds, 3 of heart, 3 of spades) or a run of suits (ace, 2,3 of clubs), he would notice that we had discarded a 4 of diamonds and a 4 of spades. "If you have a 4," he would shake his head, "you're thinking 'Bummer, dude'."

I couldn't find his tell because his expression was thoughtful, excited, scheming, and sneaky all in the space of about fifteen seconds. Had I not had a glob of hard web over my mouth, I would have really enjoyed the games.

After about eighty minutes, the webbing started to feel softer and the top was becoming powdery. On the wall, the webs had disappeared.

"Here," Peter reached towards my face. He dug his nails into the glob and I felt it start to crack. Small chunks of it broke off into ash-like dust.

"Move your mouth a little," he advised.

I shifted my jaw to the side and then the other. Most of the webbing came off, but some stayed around the sensitive skin surrounding my lips.

"That'll disappear soon. No, don't pull at it."

I dropped my hand that had tried to peel off the remaining web. I opened my mouth to swear at him until he cringed with the sheer mortification of being himself. But all I actually said was, "Jerk."

"I know," Peter dropped his gaze. "I said I was sorry. But give it a few more minutes, and it'll all be gone. Then we can go get breakfast."

The clock said 6:48, but I scowled. "I'm not hungry."

"We can go get coffee. Come on, we'll go out and we can talk. You're smart – maybe you can give me ideas about how to create an antidote that would dissolve the webs immediately."

"Yeah, and sell it to your enemies," I brushed more of the dried web off my face.

"Stop touching it. I'll buy breakfast as an apology."

I thought about snapping that he didn't have any money, but he was gathering up the cards and running to get our shoes.

I sneaked a quick rub at my face when he wasn't looking. One meal with the spider guy wouldn't kill me.


End file.
